BLADE RUNNER
Screenplay by
HAMPTON FANCHER
July 24, 1980 Brighton Productions Inc.
1420 No. Beachwood Drive
Hollywood, Calif. 90028
****************
INT. TYRELL CORPORATION LOCKER ROOM - DAY 1
THE EYE 2
It's magnified and deeply revealed. Flecks of green
and yellow in a field of milky blue. Icy filaments
surround the undulating center.
The eye is brown in a tiny screen. On the metallic
surface below, the words VOIGHT-KAMPFF are finely
etched. There's a touch-light panel across the top
and on the side of the screen, a dial that registers
fluctuations of the iris.
The instrument is no bigger than a music box and sits
on a table between two men. The man talking is big,
looks like an over-stuffed kid. "LEON" it says on
his breast pocket. He's dressed in a warehouseman's
uniform and his pudgy hands are folded expectantly in
his lap. Despite the obvious heat, he looks very cool.
The man facing him is lean, hollow cheeked and dressed
in gray. Detached and efficient, he looks like a cop
or an accountant. His name is HOLDEN and he's all
business, except for the sweat on his face.
The room is large and humid. Rows of salvaged junk
are stacked neatly against the walls. Two large fans
whir above their heads.
LEON
Okay if I talk?
Holden doesn't answer. He's centering Leon's eye on
the machine.
LEON
I kinda get nervous when I
take tests.
HOLDEN
Don't move.
LEON
Sorry.
He tries not to move but finally his lips can't help
a sheepish smile.
LEON
Already had I.Q. test this year --
but I don't think I never had a...
HOLDEN
(cutting in)
Reaction time is a factor in this,
so please pay attention. Answer
quickly as you can.
Leon compresses his lips and nods his big head eagerly.
Holden's voice is cold, geared to intimidate and evoke
response.
HOLDEN
You're in a desert, walking along
in the sand when all of a sudden
you look down and see a...
LEON
What one?
It was a timid interruption, hardly audible.
HOLDEN
What?
LEON
What desert?
HOLDEN
Doesn't make any difference what
desert -- it's completely
hypothetical.
LEON
But how come I'd be there?
HOLDEN
Maybe you're fed up, maybe you
want to be by yourself -- who
knows. So you look down and
see a tortoise. It's crawling
towards you...
LEON
A tortoise. What's that?
HOLDEN
Know what a turtle is?
LEON
Of course.
HOLDEN
Same thing.
LEON
I never seen a turtle.
He sees Holden's patience is wearing thin.
LEON
But I understand what you mean.
HOLDEN
You reach down and flip the
tortoise over on its back, Leon.
Keeping an eye on his subject, Holden notes the dials
in the Voight-Kampff. One of the needles quivers
slightly.
LEON
You make these questions, Mr.
Holden, or they write 'em down
for you?
Disregarding the question, Holden continues, picking
up the pace.
HOLDEN
The tortoise lays on its back,
its belly baking in the hot sun,
beating its legs trying to turn
itself over. But it can't. Not
without your help. But you're
not helping.
Leon's upper lip is quivering.
LEON
Whatcha mean, I'm not helping?
HOLDEN
I mean you're not helping!
Why is that, Leon?
Leon looks shocked, surprised. But the needles in
the computer barely move. Holden goes for the inside
of his coat. But big Leon is faster. His LASER BURNS
a hole the size of a nickel through Holden's stomach.
Unlike a bullet, a laser causes no impact. It goes
through Holden's spine and comes out his back, clean
as a whistle. Like a rag doll he falls back off the
bench from the waist up. By the time he hits the
floor, big slow Leon is already walking away. But he
stops, turns and with a little smile of satisfaction,
FIRES at the machine on the table.
There's a flash and a puff of smoke. The Voight-Kampff
is hit dead center, crippled but not destroyed; as
Leon walks out of the room, one of its lights begins
to blink, faint but steady.
EXT. DESERT - NIGHT 3
The horizon marked by a thin copper line that maybe
the end, of the beginning of a day.
The train that follows, cuts through the night at 400
miles an hour.
INT. TRAIN - NIGHT 4
No clickitty-clack of track-bound noise, it's a long,
insulated Pullman of contoured seats and low-keyed
lighting, coloured to soothe,and empty, except for
the passenger half way down.
His eyes closed, head rested against the glass. Ten
years ago, DECKARD might have been an athlete, a
track man or a welter-weight. The body looks it, but
the face has seen some time -- not all of it good.
INT. TRAIN - REFRESHMENT DISPENSER - NIGHT 5
Deckard comes down the aisle, slips a coin into the
mechanism, receives a beer and returns to his seat.
INT. TRAIN - NIGHT 6
Tired of the program, he takes off the headset and
drops it next to three empty beer bottles and a
sandwich wrapper, adjusts his position and winds up
staring at his reflection in the window. Runs a
hand over his face, it could use a shave. He leans
closer and peers through the glass.
Out there in the black a sign flashes past: SAN
ANGELES, THREE MINUTES.
EXT. PLATFORM - NIGHT 7
The train slides in, smooth as an eel, and stops with-
out a sound. Carrying a bag and umbrella, Deckard
disembarks ahead of the other passengers and into the
sweltering night.
INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT 8
Deckard has got his coat swung over his shoulder, his
shirt already damp, as he walks down the long, hollow
passage under orbs of yellow light.
EXT. TERMINAL - NIGHT 9
Deckard unlocks his car and gets in. Turns the ig-
nition and hits a sensor. The dash console glows
and Deckard sits back waiting for the air unit to cool
things off.
DECKARD (V.O.)
It was 97 degrees in the city and
no hope of improvement. Not bad
if you're a lizard. But two hours
earlier I was drinking Acquavit
with an Eskimo lady in North East
Alaska. That's a tough change to
make. It was so good, I didn't
want to leave, so I left a day
early.
A little detached, Deckard taps another sensor on the
panel, lights up a cigarette and watches as his mes-
sages flash across the viewer stating date, time and
caller. The last one is repeated five times. Deckard
sighs, switches off the viewer and gets on the radio.
DECKARD
Contact. This is Blade Runner One
calling Com-fast 27.
